


songs of times past

by mcclance



Series: tumblr fics [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, lance plays guitar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 19:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcclance/pseuds/mcclance
Summary: keith and lance find comfort in the sounds of their past deep in the night.





	songs of times past

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](https://mcclance.tumblr.com/post/173343350297/lance-finds-an-alien-instrument-and-familiarizes) on my [tumblr](https://mcclance.tumblr.com)

“Lance, we  _ have _ to go!”

 

Shiro’s voice is deafening in Lance’s helmet but he found something worth disobeying over.

 

It was supposed to be a quick, simple get in and get out rescue mission at a Galra base. With Pidge’s hacking skills and the team’s ferocity they retrieved the hostages with minor injury. What they didn’t expect was reinforcements to arrive so quickly and it suddenly became a haul ass back to the lions.

 

“It’s okay, I’ll be fine! Go ahead!” Lance yells back.

 

The team had gotten split up in their retreat, so Lance was alone when he nearly ran past a control room. By chance, he had glanced in, and there, leaning against the control panel was a stringed instrument. He had to have it.

 

Lance assumed some guards had played with it to pass the time; he could imagine how boring watching nothing on monitors could be.

 

It certainly  _ looked _ like a guitar, with a long neck and numerous strings pulled taut over the ovalish body, but he discovered the fretboard was dotted systematically with glowing shapes. He didn’t have much time to contemplate it as he heard the thudding of Galran soldiers coming down the hallway.

 

The instrument had a strap thankfully, so Lance quickly slung it across his back and gripped his bayard in his hand, meeting the Galra at gunpoint.

 

“Let’s dance, fellas.”

 

*

 

Lance spent the next several quintents locked away in his room playing his new instrument.

 

It had more strings than he was used to, but he loved its smooth wood-like finish, and the way the delicate strings vibrated when plucked. The neck fit perfectly into the crook of his hand, and the dip carved into its side slotted comfortably against his thigh the way lovers’ hands lock together.

 

He quickly discovered the glowing patterns were merely for aesthetic purposes. They pulsed and shifted colors upon changing chords, and Lance spent vargas strumming chords just to watch blue melt into purple, then into red.

 

His fingers, though aching and beginning to callus, were slowly remembering songs he used to play. Blue and emerald green faded in and out to his mother’s lullabies, vibrant yellows and oranges popped along to songs he wrote with his friends, royal purples and magenta swam beneath his fingertips as he sang his father’s love songs to his mother. Notes become steps leading back home and melodies guide him into the recesses of his memories, to the arms of loved ones.

 

Lance’s nightly escapades go mostly unnoticed until Keith comes along like a wandering bee to honey.

 

It was only supposed to be a quick trip to the kitchen to quench the desert storming in Keith’s throat when he heard soft plucking, sweet drops of music that led him to Lance’s door.

 

Keith didn’t really  _ understand _ music, but he knew his father’s hazy singing, he knew the catchy tunes Shiro hummed under his breath, the enthusiastic operas Hunk put on when he cooked. Lance’s clear voice riding over the soothing strings was different.

 

He found himself returning to Lance’s door each night, water pouch in hand, listening to him and his music. When he closed his eyes, leaned back against the cool metal wall, Keith found himself in distant places.

 

When it pulled and pushed him like the ocean’s tide he felt the comfort of his little desert shack, the reassurance of Shiro’s hand upon his shoulder, the worn grip of his blade. If it bounced like droplets off a tin roof then Keith found himself laughing with the team, flying unrestrained with Red. And should he slip into its silky waters and let it fill his chest then he’s listening to silence the moment after a battle, staring at the stars passing by them every day, smiling back at Lance against the sunset.

 

Keith finds his own escape.

 

*

 

Keith wakes with a jolt. His body hurts, it’s cold, and there’s a water pouch still clutched in his hand. This is not his room.

 

“What the-”

 

Keith sits up abruptly and comes level to Lance’s knees.

 

“Keith! What are you doing?” Lance looks genuinely confused, arms crossed.

 

“I was just, you know,” Keith starts, ending with a string of incomprehensible noises.

 

He can feel Lance’s stare boring into him and he tries not to meet it.

 

“Wait a minute,” Lance says, “did you sleep here the whole night?”

 

“Maybe?”

 

Lance’s face scrunches up and he bursts like a bubble.

 

“Excuse me! That is  _ so _ creepy, what are you up to, mister? Is this part of some plan?” Lance interrogates him, leaning down into Keith’s personal space. When Keith fails to come up with something it dawns on him. “Have you- Did you hear me playing last night?”

 

“Maybe?”

 

Lance lifts a brow.

 

“Maybe every night?” Keith continues, grinning sheepishly.

 

The skin across Lance’s cheekbones pinken, and he sputters, “Wh-What the heck-  _ Why _ ?”

 

Keith shrugs and answers honestly, “You- You sound nice. You sound like you really enjoy singing and playing.”

 

Ticks pass in silence before Lance finally reaches out a hand. Keith takes it and he’s pulled up to meet Lance who doesn’t look him in the eye. Keith can feel the skin roughening at Lance’s fingertips.

 

“Thanks,” Lance murmurs eventually.

 

Keith smiles. “You’re welcome.”

 

“Dumbass,” Lance mumbles, stalking off presumably for the bathroom.

 

Keith turns the other way to head back to his own room, a happy tune playing in his head, before Lance is calling back to him, “You don’t have to sit outside anymore.”


End file.
